


Light at the End

by maqqy96



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: The Calling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4910542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqqy96/pseuds/maqqy96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair reminisces as he walks to his Calling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light at the End

It had been a long journey. While Alistair could have chosen to enter the deep roads via the rift near Amaranthine, he had wanted to take more familiar roads. Ones filled with memories. He smirked at his own wandering thoughts. It had been so cold down underground, wandering the long, broken roads under Orzammar. They had not managed more than a few hours frightened rest each night, spent in a dark that was almost palatable, listening to the echoes of the darkspawn all around them. They had been hungry, tired, and filled with such fear that sometimes Alistair wondered how any of them made it through without screaming. He had known the Deep Roads was where he would one day end up, and he had heard stories of the horrors within their depths. The only thing that had kept him moving forward, the one light shining in the endless abyss, had been her.

Alistair smiled fondly, remembering her as he had first seen her. Tiny, dressed in rags far too big for her slender frame, covered in mud and dirt. Her bright shining eyes wide with apprehension the only betrayal of her true feelings. She had carried herself in a manner with more nobility than he'd seen from a King, yet spoke in such a humble, self effacing manner. Her laugh had been like a clear silver bell, lifting worries and fears from all who heard it. He had known her as a mage before she'd cast her first spell, for there had been magic in her voice alone. She had carried him from the wilds, carried them all throughout Thedas, and had stood over the defeated form of the Archdemon. Despite all odds, she had saved them all. And not just from the blight. She had peered into each of them and had captured their hearts and released them from their internal prisons.

He felt a sting of jealousy and guilt, tainting those happy memories. She had been young, and that youth had made him hesitant, question. He thought her a child, someone in need of protection and she had resented that. She had told him time and again with that commanding voice that she could take care of herself. And yet she never did. Bleeding to death, she would still make sure everyone else was fine before receiving care for herself. He had seen the recklessness and stubbornness of a child. Zevran had seen the strength and fierceness of a woman.

Zevran Arainai. Shaking his head, he couldn't help remembering how irked he'd been, when she had spared the life of the elf who'd tried to kill them. He had never trusted Zevran the entire time they'd traveled. He had trusted him even less when he'd seen Zevran take her hand, walking with her into her tent that winter night. He'd been so furious at how the assassin had treated her, acting as though she was nothing special. He recalled several heated arguments, calling the elf all sorts of vile names when she wasn't around to hear. He hadn't deserved her, didn't deserve the mercy he'd been given, didn't deserve to be at her side. Zevran had simply smiled, looking cocky and proud. Yet she had remained with him, laughing and sharing stories and inviting him to her tent frequently. Alistair had felt bitter, but told himself that as long as she was happy, that was all that would matter. And when the elf broke her heart, he would be there.

And break her heart he did, though not as Alistair had expected. Zevran had offered her an earring, an act that had seemed unimportant to Alistair. But she had cried that night, and he'd heard her. He heard her talking quietly to Leliana, about how flustered and upset Zevran had become. How he'd retracted the offer. She thought she had hurt him, and that in turn upset her, for she had just wanted him to tell her that he loved her. In the end, Zevran had come back, offering the earring once more, and with it, his heart. It wasn't until then that Alistair realized that Zevran's feelings were genuine, and that she would not need Alistair to be there. He was not her white night. It hadn't been until then that Alistair realized he had been the one undeserving. Once more, she had shown him how patient and perceptive she was. She had seen the truth behind Zevran's actions when Alistair had been blinded by his prejudice.

It had taken time, but their friendship held true, and he had come to accept and even enjoy the Antivan's company as well as his love for the warden. When Zevran had left for Antiva, she had been lonely and wrote to Alistair often, and had even visited. They had laughed and shared stories, and wondered of friends now separated and scattered. When she had learned she was pregnant, Alistair was the first person she had told, and he had been so happy for her. She had been sad, thinking her tainted blood would forever rob her of that simple pleasure, but there she was, once more defying the odds. He had been there when the baby was born, and had been overjoyed at the arrival of such a healthy boy. She'd named him Duncan, to which Alistair wholeheartedly approved. Zevran had returned a few weeks later, and Alistair had seen him cry for the first time, holding his infant son. He wouldn't see him cry again until his second child, a daughter, was born.

Alistair shook himself out of his wandering thoughts. He had reached the imposing gates of Orzammar. The guard nodded, having expected the former King of Ferelden. Alistair stepped inside, once more glimpsing at the unchanging halls within. The echoes, the burning light of the lava, the smell of stone and cold and things that grew in dark places; all these things hit him, bringing a pang of sadness and regret. Those children were long grown now, married and with children of their own. It had been so very many years since he had spoken to other companions that still lived. Idly, he wondered how many of them had known of his calling. If they had known, would they have come? And the warden…

Alistair felt a lump in his throat. He had always figured they'd walk their calling together. After all, he may have had a slight head start, but they'd walked together as wardens for so long it had ceased to matter. But no. She had passed before him, quietly and alone, defending her Arling. She had taken her responsibilities so seriously. She could have waited; waited for help, waited for him to fight with her, waited for her lover to join her in battle. But again, she cared for them too much and herself not enough. She may have won that battle and saved her people, but they had lost a friend far too early.

It hurt to know that the last time he'd walked the long halls of this dwarven city, he'd been listening to Wynne trying her hardest to speak seriously to Zevran. He had heard Shale calling them all soft and easy to squish. Leliana had played with her new pet nug. The warden had just rolled her eyes, laughing at their antics. And her laughter had filled those dark halls with such light. Now, as he glanced around, he saw almost no people. It was late, even to a city that had never seen daylight. The smell of many suppers still lingered in the air, reminding him of home. He felt the lump in his throat relax, and suddenly was so tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of remembering rather than living. Tired of feeling sad and lost. At least now he was close to done. Already he could hear things whispering to him. Already, he could see the guarded entrance to the Deep Roads. He longed for that darkness to swallow him, to end his suffering. His only regret that he walked into it alone.

The guards said nothing, and simply stood aside, bowing their heads with respect. As Alistair approached the heavily shadowed doors, he thought he saw the darkness move. He paused, hand on his sword hilt. At first, he thought perhaps a darkspawn had managed to work it's way to the city limit. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the gaze of amber eyes and the shine from twin blades. The figure stepped out of the shadows, a crooked smile on his wrinkled, weather face. Underneath the ravages of old age, Alistair could still see the rugged, willful, wisecracking elf he had known for longer than he had once thought possible.

They didn't speak; words were no longer necessary. Instead, Zevran held the door for his friend, his comrade, as they both stepped into the darkness, both looking once more for that light that had lead them for so long.


End file.
